


Soldier, Poet, King

by Abreu



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler Fluff, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Violence, Canon Disabled Character, Disabled Character, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Game of Thrones References, Gen, George Washington is a Dad, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Medieval Medicine, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abreu/pseuds/Abreu
Summary: Nineteen years ago, Ser Alexander Hamilton was banished from Citadel Fortress with one eye to never return again for committing treason against king George Washington. Now, the king is dead, murdered in his sleep and his Right, Thomas Jefferson has called his banners to take the throne by all means, even a war.Eliza Schuyler desperate as her father prepares another war, gives her oldest son the task to find the banished knight and bring him to Citadel Fortress for he is the rightful heir to the throne. When Philip finds Alexander Hamilton, all he sees is a cynical forty something man with no want to save the world yet there is something about him that Philip can't place his fingers on.Together, they embark on a journey to meet Eliza and save the Five Kingdoms.Also, Hamilton is his father, but they both don't know that.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette & Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton & Philip Hamilton (1782-1801), Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alexander Hamilton, throughout the Five Kingdoms you’re known as a dangerous man that will destroy everything and anything that stands in his path to power. An impulsive, abrasive bastard knight that is not afraid to sell even his soul to get his way, do you agree?”
> 
> Alexander looked at the whole room, slowly he rose from the cold ground ignoring the throbbing pain on his right leg, his hard stare cutting the people’s heart.
> 
> “Did you know that we’re all going to die? Some sooner than others, many good men that made it possible for you idiots to stand here, are dead. Some deserved to be dead and I would gladly spit in their faces, others did not and I wept them. Death is the one thing that never discriminates, for we all going to die, kings and beggars alike.”
> 
> He looked at the Council of Five. “Your grandfathers are dead, your parents too, one day you will be dead with them, and do you know what is the only thing that never dies? Your name, your house. Centuries have passed since your ancestors’ deaths yet their name still stand. I do not want power for myself, I know how to die ever since I was twelve, what I want is a legacy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this resembles Game of Thrones is because its inspired by it because I read the books and I'm slowly watching the series.

The chains clanked as he took a step forward. _Clank_. Another step. _Clank_. A step. He did not seem to mind the noise; he saw it rather as a repetitive pattern that distracted him from the situation going on. He ignored the rustle of the guards’ swords and the pain in his right leg, throbbing every time he took a step. What he could not ignore was the eerie silence that fell under The Citadel; he had walked those halls before and all those times they were filled with voices, with life. Now, dead silence.

They stopped at the Great Door of the Council of Five, Alexander looked up. He had only stepped through those doors twice before, he found them amazingly elitist and rich. They were huge, thirteen feet high and twice in length, carved by a type of tree nowadays extinct, dark brown with age evident in its care, and right in the middle was very faintly carved a lion but now in its place a great eagle.

Go figure, he never stood a chance.

There were two other guards standing side to side of the door, both of them with silver plate armors, helmets in the shape of an eagle’s beak, navy blue capes with the eagle in them and held by two round pins shaped as eagle’s claws. They eyed him with disgust and hatred, one of them even spat on his face. The guards supposed to bring him in did nothing. He could only feel how the saliva travelled downwards.

Then the doors opened and the eerie silence ended as the Council of Five came into view, and as he came into theirs, strenuous sound erupted. Alexander looked at the Five, the new Five, in fact, given it was just maybe less than a year since they were trying to build a new government from the ashes of the old. The room was enormous, with great marble pillars supporting it. Sitting in that crescent moon shaped table, in pompous chairs were the Five, looking at him with disgust—all except one.

There laid Thomas Jefferson, in rich purple velvet doublet with the emblem of his house, a bear, sewn in what appeared gold silk. James Madison was also there, less pompous wearing a silver tunic, sewn in as well was his stupid parrot in same golden silk.

Alexander wanted to spit on both men. Next to Madison was that asshole of Adams, perhaps even more arrogant than Jefferson, the one who had taken Alexander’s position in the Council, wearing a long cape of a colour he could not distinguish but his awful looking black stallion as present as Jefferson’s bear in his clothes.

The man in the middle of the table, sitting in the golden framed chair, new and made only for him, with an eagle’s wings stretching out of the frame, was the man that Alexander could not look at but forced himself, he was met with guilt and shame. George Washington sat there, looking flawless and elegant yet powerful as only he could look. He wore the best clothes, made from gold silk and embedded with jewelry, his cape white as snow and the eagle shone high and true.

He was the only man that had not erupted in shouts when he entered nor had seen him with hatred, he saw him with disappointment, which was way worse.

At the sides of the Council of Five were the spectators, high lords who could not hold their curiosity to see him burn, men who either detested him or respected him, some even feared his tongue, his words. Before a guard yanked his head upward, he managed to see Elizabeth Schuyler and her father lord Phillip Schuyler looking at him.

Then, he felt a kick in his legs, caught a whim of pain in his throat and fell on his knees. Silence began falling again on the room.

“The Guard brings present to the Council of Five, Ser Alexander Hamilton of House Hamilton, first of his name, Left of the King and Second Captain of the King’s Army, accused of High Treason to get the king’s justice,” the Commander spoke out loud, bent the knee to his king and then stepped down.

Jefferson’s lips curved in an almost smile as he rose from his seat. “You stand accused of plotting against your king to seize the throne for yourself, do you deny this claim?”

“Yes.” The room erupted again in shouts, voices calling him traitor, others calling him brave, spitting and swallowing what they felt, it took another two minutes to shut them up.

“Is it not true that you resigned as Left of the King after differing in certain political matters with the king?”

“No, that part is true, I resigned as Left of the King after having too big of different opinions with the king,” he replied, his voice as strong as ever.

“Then you admit you fought with the king?”

“Many times, my lord, even before he was king. Only in words, I’m afraid to admit, His Grace is far better swordsman than I am.”

“Do not mock me, bastard knight.” Jefferson’s tone was as sharp as a knife.

“My deepest apologies, my lord, I did not think a simple answer would upset you,” he sassed, looking straight into his eyes.

Jefferson’s almost smile fell into a deep frown but ignored that bitter remark as he looked down to the parchment in front of him. “After your disagreement with His Grace, you went to Lord Aaron Burr to get drunk with, and after a couple of drinks, you confessed to want the throne for yourself.”

Alexander laughed. “I admit I went to Aaron Burr after the disagreement but I surely didn’t go see him to get drunk with, the man does not enjoy a cup of good beer even if hit him in the face, nor I told him I wanted the throne for myself.”

“Then why he came to the Guard to confess, are you calling him a liar?”

“Yes, and I am also calling _you_ a treacherous snake for aiding him with this conspiracy against me.”

The room busted into shouts again, these even louder than before. Alexander looked at where Lady Schuyler was seating and saw her frown, he knew she wasn’t happy with the way he was answering to the Council of Five, he wished to had held her hands and told her either way he was dead.

“Order in the name of your king!” King Washington spoke, not even that loud but with his powerful booming voice, it made even Jefferson look uncomfortable. “Careful, Alexander with that tongue of yours, do not let me regret letting you talk.”

Now, it was Madison’s turn to speak as Jefferson fell to his seat. “We have the letters addressed to John Laurens, son of Lord Henry Laurens of House Laurens, that contain subjects that the king told you in secrecy and confidence, do you deny that?”

Alexander’s face turned red. “No, I do not deny that, I did betray His Grace’s trust.”

“Alexander Hamilton, throughout the Five Kingdoms you’re known as a dangerous man that will destroy everything and anything that stands in his path to power. An impulsive, abrasive bastard knight that is not afraid to sell even his soul to get his way, do you agree?”

Alexander looked at the whole room, slowly he rose from the cold ground ignoring the throbbing pain on his right leg, his hard stare cutting the people’s heart.

“Did you know that we’re all going to die? Some sooner than others, many good men that made it possible for you idiots to stand here, are dead. Some deserved to be dead and I would gladly spit in their faces, others did not and I wept them. Death is the one thing that never discriminates, for we all going to die, kings and beggars alike.”

He looked at the Council of Five. “Your grandfathers are dead, your parents too, one day you will be dead with them, and do you know what is the only thing that never dies? Your name, your house. Centuries have passed since your ancestors’ deaths yet their name still stand. I do not want power for myself, I know how to die ever since I was twelve, what I want is a legacy.”

He smiled. “I want my name, my house to live even when I’m rotting in the ground. So, can you blame if I want something to outlive me? It saddens me people think of me that way but they’re not wrong, I would and _will_ do whatever it takes for my name to survive. But all of youse are the same, even worse. So, what’s the difference?”

“We do not plot against His Grace,” Jefferson spat.

“Oh, you would if it was to your advantage, you probably will when you think he is no longer of use. All of you will, and he knows it,” Alexander spat back. “I, however, proved to be a loyal soldier ever since day one and will never do harm against His Grace, even if we disagree politically.”

Adams scoffed indignantly as he looked at the king. “Your Grace, how long do we have to listen to his lies? He admitted it to do whatever it took to gain power; he clearly did try to plot against you. I say we kill him, behead him and then kill all his bloodline so his name dies with him.”

The face of the king looked split. His Grace pondered for a few minutes, in which Alexander tried not to look at Eliza, afraid they would find out, afraid they would kill her if they knew that she loved him, were they to kill Alexander for treason right this day, he would want Eliza safe, to married someone else if her father willed but safe. Instead, he looked at the king, he would not tremble even if that man intimidated him, he prayed to the gods that they would make George Washington realize he was far too noble (sometimes) to such monstrosity.

When His Grace still said nothing, Adams pushed. “My king, this man does not deserve to be alive, his lion is the same emblem as the mad king house, who knows if they’re even related.”

“The mad king name was George as well, Lord Adams, and all of our houses were bannermen to his lion,” His Grace softly spoke. “And his house is dead with him alongside, let Alexander take his emblem if he desires to, someone has to either way.”

Alexander frowned; His Grace knew it was a really bad coincidence that both the mad king’s emblem and his were the same, for Alexander had not chosen to be born to James Hamilton and it was not like _his_ house was really powerful or as important as it had been the one of the mad king. To say he could take his emblem was to say Alexander wanted that lion to represent him. Was it his fault they called him ‘little lion’?

“Is there any proof that he plotted against me that is not his drunken thoughts?” He spoke again, his strong voice demanding an answer.

“There is Lord Burr’s word that he had stated to start a new rebellion days before resigning as your Left, Your Grace,” Madison said.

“Well, then where is Lord Burr?”

Silence. Alexander wanted to laugh, of course that damned coward of Burr would not show to the court, not unless he had absolute knowledge that Alexander was going to lose the battle, and he didn’t because His Grace held Hamilton to high regard.

The king frowned. “I see, so we have only the drunken thoughts of a bastard knight and the confession of a lord nowhere to be found as evidence of his high treason?”

“My king, we can’t let him get away with this, he mocked us, he even accused of Lord Jefferson of treason, that’s a high crime,” Adams said.

“True but is it worth his life?”

“He said he was going to do whatever it took to maintain his house, that is a threat if I ever heard once, if we let him and those treacherous thoughts leave, what kind of example we would lead?” Jefferson added with spite.

The king looked at Alexander and he swore he saw pity in his eyes, that angered him, for he did not need anyone’s pity, not even the king. Then, he looked at his council, a bunch of pathetic idiots, if you asked the lion.

He looked at Alexander once more and the pity was now gone.

“Ser Alexander Hamilton, son of James Hamilton, of House Hamilton, first of your name, Left of the King and Second Captain of the King’s Army, I sentence you to be stripped of all titles, land and riches you own and to never set foot anywhere in Citadel Fortress again.”

The sentence was met with numerous shouts, Alexander heard Lady Eliza’s gasps, he also heard complains of high lords saying the king was too merciful, others plain screamed for Alexander to be hung, even the Five were arguing among themselves.

King Washington rose his hand in the air to silence the people then he looked at Jefferson. “And for insulting Lord Jefferson, he may choose one punishment that is not death.”

Jefferson’s smug smile returned as he placed his hand in his beard, as he was thinking of a cruel way to inflict pain. “Which, again is your good eye?”

Alexander’s jaw tensed. Of course, if everyone in his regiment knew of his vision problem from which he had to use glasses once in a while, then Jefferson knew, that smug asshole. “My right eye, _my lord_ ,” he spat.

“Then I want your right eye to be brought to me, maybe then you’ll see your position in life a little clearer, bastard.”

“Very well,” the king said. “It is settled and this matter is done, you will be stripped of your right eye tomorrow at dawn and ride away from here.” He rose and without batting an eye, he left, followed by the loyal dogs that were the Council of Five.

The commander of the Guard said. “King George Washington of House Washington, third of his name, king of the five kingdoms, High Councillor and Protector of Men, has given His justice, this court is now over.”

“If I may, Your Grace,” Alexander spoke before the king disappeared. “May I spend one warm night in an inn rather than a cold cell before I be stripped of my good eye and ride to never here again?”

George Washington looked at Alexander. “Very well but you shall be led there by three guards who will stand the night and will not leave until the morrow.”

“Thank you, my king,” he bent the knee with difficulty.

This time he could not help but look at his beloved.

 _Gods, be merciful, I beg of you, do not let my Betsey’s fate end like John’s_. He smiled for her even if there was no reason to smile.

There few inns in Citadel Fortress that would host him, even if it was for one night, they were already calling him the One-Eyed knight or his personal favorite the Bastard Traitor. Somehow, by art of magic, he found one inn, almost at the bridge, that gave him shelter. It was a poor inn; it was in really bad shaped and Alexander was sure the man running it was a criminal but it did the trick.

Just as the king had ordered, three guards from the Guard were with him, not taking their eyes off him, following his every step. They inspected his room, trying to find ways in which he could escape and when they found none that would result successful, they left him to eat at the dinner downstairs. Alex didn’t have much appetite however and did not join them.

In the middle of the night, unable to sleep, tossing and turning, Alexander Hamilton laid in bed looking at the ceiling above him. He could not believe his life, and he cursed whichever gods decided to be cruel to him. Only a few months ago, he was living the high life, was enjoying their victory with his friends, with Laurens, with Mulligan and Lafayette and now, all that was gone.

Laurens was gone.

There was a knock at the door and Alexander got up skeptically and in pain, he owned a sword but had been taken away from him as a mean of captivity, he looked around the room to try and find something to defend himself with but to no avail, there was nothing. He sighed, if he was facing death, then he would fight with his fists.

He opened the door and was surprised to see who was there. She looked like a commoner more than the lady she was. But her eyes were the same kind ones that made him fall absolutely smitten for her, the lady he had hoped to marry but knew her father would never accept now.

“Eliza, what are you doing here?” He whispered, afraid to awake the guards next door.

“Shh, will you let me in?” She held a candlelight in her hands.

He stepped inside with her following him, very quietly he closed the door and turned to see his beloved.

“What are you doing here? Does your father even know you’re here?”

“Angelica distracted him with heavy wine and good food, he’s out cold sleeping in the Citadel.”

“Thank the gods for Angelica then,” he replied sarcastically.

She placed the candlelight in the small table next to the bed. “I had to see you, I know you’re innocent and I thank the merciful gods you kept your life.”

“You seem to forget the part where they take my good eye.”

“But you seem to forget the part where they let you keep your life; king Washington is a merciful king.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

She walked towards him and placed her hands, her warm hands in his face, he closed his eyes for a second as he let her warmth penetrate his skin, placing his own hand in hers. She had delicate hands made for sewing while he had tough hands that had killed.

“I want to marry you,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked away. “You know we can’t do that, not anymore. I am no longer a knight, I own no land, have no riches and am not the Left of the King. I am now just to-be an one-eyed man with nothing left than himself.”

“You have me,” she placed his disheveled hair out of his face. He knew she liked it short but the weeks spend in the dungeons had made it grow, he only thanked the fact he had gotten the time to shower.

“Would you relish being a poor man’s wife unable to provide for your life, my Betsey?”

“I would relish being your wife, I do not care about the riches or the land or the titles, I love you for your heart.”

He took her hands off slowly and with care and moved to the candlelight. “Remember the day we met? In that small party Lord Schuyler organized after our victory in the Valley?”

“Like it was yesterday, you were all armored in a silver armor, the eagle emblem in your cape and chest plate with your helmet in hand, smiling to every woman with John Laurens by your side.”

“I loved him,” he whispered.

“I know,” she replied, sitting in the bed. “I know his death broke you.”

“I did not love him how I love you, though. If anything shall happen to you, I would march with a thousand men army to the Citadel’s gates and kill that damned Jefferson with my own hands.”

“I appreciate the thought but I rather you don’t, nothing bad will happen to me, I assure you.”

He sighed and placed his hand near the candlelight to feel its warmth, it was nothing compared to Eliza’s. “When I saw you that day, I made myself a promise of being your husband. I was ready to move heaven and earth for that wish to come true.”

He turned to her. “Think with common sense, my Betsey, if you proclaim your love for me, then you’re doomed to a life of rags. That’s not a life I want for you,” he caressed her cheek. “Renounce me, and you will marry a wealthy man that will provide more than I will ever provide.”

“I don’t care about those things, Alexander, I already told you,” she took his hand off abruptly. “I want you, only you as my lord husband, even if we live a life of rags. As long as you’re by my side, that would be enough.”

“Those are the words of women, dear, and women are merciful and kind unlike life and the gods.”

“What do you know of mercy, Alexander?” She spat now angry. “All you do is look at the grim side of things.”

“I am a man, I am realistic, my dear, and life is not merciful, it should be like you, kind and delicate but it’s not,” he sighed again. “You and I are not meant to be.”

There was a faint silence and in the darkness of the room only lit by a faint candlelight, the faint silence turned into a long silence and Alexander believed at one point that Eliza had left until her lips crashed into his with a burning desire, he kissed back but with a melancholic desire and realized her cheeks were wet.

They pulled apart just a second in which she said. “You’re my husband, I don’t care if the crown sees it or doesn’t, you’re mine and I am yours.”

He nodded and then their lips met again. In the darkness of the night, it was difficult to not make a sound but they managed. He undressed her not with hurry but with passion, trying to explore every corner of her body as if it was a holy temple. He took his time finding his way, letting her breathing lead him to wherever it had to lead him.

She undressed him as well, careful not to rip the clothes and caressed his hair, traced her fingers through every muscle trying to take as much as she could. She wondered if this was the last time, she would ever touch him and that drove him to take as much pleasure as she could, wanting to take a bit of him with her. Her only selfish wish.

They made love under the moonlight that shone from the window. When they were finished and she was asleep, he was still awake. He looked at his wife one last time and tears formed in his eyes (soon to be eye). He looked at the window and spoke to the gods.

“Just let me stay here by her side, that would be enough.”

He closed his eyes and, in the morrow, all that was left of her was his memory of the night before.

The guards gave him new clothes at dawn, didn’t ask why he was naked, perhaps they thought he had fucked a whore. Alexander said nothing as he dressed, he had a quick breakfast that consisted in burned bacon and what seemed to be dove meat, but whatever food was welcomed by him.

Then they led him to the execution yard, outside of the Citadel where a whole crowd was formed. If there had been a sword and that man Lee, Alexander would’ve thought he was being led to his death.

He was dressed with golden tunic with red crosses as embroidery, they had sewn his golden lion as his house emblem. His hair in a ponytail. He also wore leather black boots. From the corner of his eye he saw a horse, a common horse with stocks in its back.

He looked at that smug of Jefferson who wore the same clothes as yesterday with a knife at his hand. He knew he was going to enjoy this very much. They lead him to the lord and then forced him to kneel and face the crowd which hurt his right leg even worse.

He saw her among them.

 _Foolish woman_. He looked at her and mouthed the words ‘look away’ but did not know if she would follow them.

“Alexander Hamilton of House Hamilton, pray to your lion it doesn’t get infected,” Jefferson said.

“Go fuck yourself.”

He kept looking at her until Jefferson yanked his head upward with the knife in the air, then with a passionate move, he brought it down his right eye.

His screams filled the yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment or put kudos if you like it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did my father ever meet me?”
> 
> “No, he did not,” Mulligan’s bluntness hurt but Philip wasn’t going to let it shine, he was nineteen for gods’ sake. “He died before your mother got time to tell him.”
> 
> He wrote back, he did not return to meet you but he wrote you a poem, he knows your name. Hercules bit his lip. That we kept from your grandfather, and you too. “Don’t use your name, Philip, when you meet him; if he gets captured, he will say a false name and you might be saved.”
> 
> Philip nodded slowly. “That’s smart.” He picked the sword again. “Now, no cheating.” He placed himself in a fighting position.
> 
> “One more thing, Philip, before we resume.”
> 
> “Yes?”
> 
> “Don’t trust him. If you do, you might run the chance of being hurt.”

Philip woke up by the sound of the door knocking; he groaned as he turned and tossed the fine sheets to the ground, he hated to be awaken at such early time, not even the sun had rose from the horizon, it was still dark outside with shades of grey but no orange or golden yellow.

His room was at the east side of Castle Round, in what used to be the artillery tower, with a huge balcony made of the most expensive materials in the West Coast and carved in the corners the great sun of House Schuyler. His bed took one quarter of his room which was saying a lot, with sheets of the finest silk and furs of the biggest animals. He loved his room and wished to still be in it.

The knock at the door sounded again but now with more urgency.

“Come in,” Philip said as he dressed his gown.

His grandfather’s captain of guard, Hercules Mulligan, came in, wearing his green armor with the great sun of his lord’s house, he held the handle of his sword with his right hand and looked seriously grim. He was a huge man that laughed and drank most of the time, he was always kind to Philip, gave him free swordsman lessons and was the only person in the whole castle that talked about Philip’s father with warmth.

“Lord Schuyler requires your presence in the Great Room, little lord.” Even his tone was grim.

Philip was nineteen, he was already a man by everybody’s standards, his grandfather, his namesake had already arranged him to marry Lord Burr’s daughter, Theodosia who was three years younger than him. His grandfather expected him to give him great-grandsons by the first year if he wanted some land from his part.

But Philip did not want to marry and have kids so early on, he had met Theodosia and he knew if he got time to know her, he would love her fiercely but right now he wanted to travel the world, see Citadel Fortress, go to the East Coast, find adventure, and for that most people treated him as a child but they were wrong, and that’s how he knew something was wrong by Mulligan’s tone.

“What’s wrong? Is my grandfather alright? My mother?” He put his yesterday’s clothes quickly.

“They’re waiting for you, little lord,” Mulligan replied. “King Washington is dead, a raven flew a few minutes ago, that’s all I know.”

King Washington, dead? Philip stared in shock for a while. He had known king Washington since he was a little baby, he was a nice man, stoic and serious more often than not but with Philip he was always kind and smiled. He even gifted him a wooden sword with the handle carved in the shape of the sun of the Schuyler House when he was four.

“You look a lot like your father with that sword,” he said as Philip waved the sword in front of his eyes.

“Mother don’t talk of him,” the four-year-old replied.

“Oh, he was a skilled swordsman, you will grow up to be as skilled as he one day.”

And now that man, too, was gone.

Hercules led him towards the Great Room, to go there they had to march down the tower, then go left in like four different halls before the Great Hall came into view, it was big and powerful with paintings of every lord of the West Coast at the sides, they all looked bigger than life with their swords and their armor. After they went through that hall, they came to the Great Room where the throne laid.

It was a really big space built out of marble and the finest materials, pillars formed a column that led to the steps to the throne, a big round room it was, with a great window in length just behind the throne and a balcony to its right; guards stood in every corner of that space, two beside the throne, wearing the House Schuyler’s colours and banners. In the throne that was made of golden marble, sat Lord Philip Schuyler with a deep frown, next to him standing were his three daughters.

His mother looked distraught, in her hands were a letter almost wrinkled into a paper ball. His aunt Angelica looked in debate with herself which was weird given the fact she was the overconfident one that helped Philip with his self-esteem, then, there was his aunt Peggy, she had a frown that resembled the one of her fathers’ in her lips. When he entered, Lord Schuyler looked up.

“King Washington is dead, he died a few hours ago,” he announced with a bitter tone. “Lord Adams found him unconscious in his bed, a heart scare he wrote.”

“Oh.”

“The damned noble fool left no legitimate heir to take the throne, and now, the whole kingdoms are spiraling into madness.”

Hercules nudged his arm to say something else rather than ‘oh’. But Philip did not understand why he was there he did know King Washington and his wife had been unable to give heirs but the man seemed as strong and healthy as a lion, he didn’t seem ill the last time he saw him. But what did this got to do with him?

“Out,” Lord Schuyler ordered his guards. “I have to speak to my daughters and grandson alone, except you Mulligan, you stay.”

Without hesitation, the men formed a line and left. It was until the last man closed the door that Philip’s mother finally seemed to release her breath.

Lord Schuyler did not share the same relief as his daughter, instead he looked at him right in his eyes with a cold stare. “Listen here and listen well because I’m just going to talk once and that’s it, understood?”

Philip gulped at the harsh tone of his usually understandable grandfather. “Yes, my lord.”

“Your mother holds in her hands a letter that Queen Martha wrote and barely made it here by grace of the gods, it contains either the truth or a war, and by how things look like, most likely a war. Do you understand what a war means for the kingdoms? For _us_?”

“Bad news, I suppose.” His tone was lower than a whisper but somehow the lord heard.

“Oh, indeed, really, really bad news,” the lord muttered. “Especially for this house, especially for us.”

Aunt Angelica spoke next. “Queen Martha is convinced someone murdered her husband; do you understand what that means?”

“Someone committed treason.”

“Someone _murdered_ the king, that’s bigger than treason,” his grandfather corrected him. “Can you tell me who formed part of the Council of Five when King Washington took the throne?”

“The king, his Left Lord Adams, his Right Lord Jefferson, Lord Madison and Lord Burr,” he replied.

“You’re right, that _is_ the Council of Five but it wasn’t the Council of Five when our late king became our ruler, Philip.”

Philip frowned. “I still don’t understand why I am here.”

Peggy was the one who answer, with a bluntness inherited by her father. “There was this man, not from the Five Kingdoms, from the Outer Islands.” She shot a glance to her sister. “His name was Alexander Hamilton, and in the field, he became really close to King Washington. His achievements made him the first knight of the new king’s rule but he was a bastard, born out wedlock, so his enemies called him the Bastard Knight.”

Philip noted that soft spoken tone when she said the word ‘Alexander’ in her aunt’s voice and that small stare of his mother as she crumbled the paper in her hands. He also noticed how Mulligan seemed uncomfortable.

“I take that you knew that man,” Philip said.

“There’s history,” his grandfather answered grumpily.

Oh.

“Oh—”

“He was accused of treason a long time ago and for that he was stripped his titles, his land and riches, even his good eye. No one has seen him since but this letter,” his mother motioned her hands. “Say he’s the son of Washington.”

He saw Mulligan flinch, which was rare. “So, that means…”

“Here lays the recognition of Alexander Hamilton as son to the king, which means he is the rightful and lawful heir to the throne. The queen wants him found and to take the throne but problem is he hasn’t been seen anywhere for a good decade.”

“People fear him, with reason,” his grandfather spat, looking exhausted. “Not only for his swordsmanship but also because of his mind, when they gave him power, he became unstoppable. They took his good eye but I say they should’ve cut his hand off, as long as that man can write, he is a threat.”

“But where do I come in, in this?”

There was a silence and a few glances around the room, then his mother was going to talk but his aunt beat her to it.

“We will respect the decision of our queen. We need to find Alexander and bring him to Castle Round before it’s too late; his enemies don’t know you enough to think of you as a threat and we could give a small yet simple lie to your whereabouts, shall someone ask.” His aunt Peggy walked towards him.

An adventure, a real adventure, Philip could hardly believe his luck, an actual adventure with risks and dangers. It seems the gods had answered his prayers and he was about to be thrown to the wilderness, to find a man that seemed mysterious and dangerous at the same time. It should feel wrong, perhaps, but he only felt a sudden rush that eliminated any trace of sleepiness from his body. He was no longer a boy, he was now a man, a man in a position of ultimate value.

He was needed.

“You’re a man, Philip, and for that we give you this serious mission,” she said. “But you will realize that the world is cruel to sons without a father.”

He straightened out and then looked at his grandfather with a proud smile. “When do I leave, my lord?”

His grandfather eyed him from top to bottom then he looked at Hercules. “Mulligan will armor you and arm you, then you will leave in the dead of night, so one day to prepare.”

Mulligan knelt. “Yes, my lord,” he looked at Philip. “Go find something to eat, then go to the training yard, wait for me there, I must speak to Lord Schuyler alone for a personal matter.”

Philip was skeptical at first, Mulligan wasn’t one to complain about his personal problems, in fact, he didn’t even talk about his personal life at all. But he wasn’t going to bite the hand that had just given him a treat, he nodded and turned around.

Only when the door closed and they were sure Philip wasn’t going to burst back in the room that Mulligan faced the lord, his hand still in the handle of his sword and when he moved closer to the throne, his armor clanked.

“With all due respect, my lord, but is it wise to send Philip out to find the Bastard Knight?”

“Not like we had a choice, Mulligan, he’s the only Schuyler that Burr doesn’t mistrust and Jefferson doesn’t pay attention to.”

“He may be nineteen and a man but he still has that impulsiveness that seem almost childish.”

“Who do you wish me to send if not him? Jeremiah? He’s out with the Burrs’ right now. We do not know who are our allies and who are our enemies, we have to play as if we’re alone in this.”

Mulligan frowned and turned to Eliza. He had known her since the first war, didn’t think he was going to see her in another. He knew she would share his sentiment of worry. “What do you think of this?”

“My opinion in this matter does not change the reality I’m afraid, Hercules.” Her answer was proper, with the right tone and respectful in all that matters which meant she was opposing it in her mind.

Okay, it seemed they were not going to change their mind about that subject but there was still the biggest elephant in the room that neither Eliza or Lord Schuyler addressed. “Is it true, the whole ‘Alexander is the rightful heir to the throne’ thing? Is he the one true king of the five kingdoms?”

Lord Schuyler barked a nervous laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? That bastard is our king, that’s right. Turns out, our late ruler slept with Rachel Faucette when he was a young man, didn’t see the consequences back then. The letter says he knew Alexander was his son since the war, only now it seems that man is useful.”

Hercules Mulligan was old, not as old as Lord Philip Schuyler but definitely not as young as Lord Burr, and for that, he remembered, little things more often than the bigger things. He was a veteran of war, a war that lasted seven years and had now been almost forgotten. For Hercules, he still remembered the day he met Alexander Hamilton, the same age as his son is now, with this drive to achieve his dreams to folly.

People tended to forget as time went on, that Aaron Burr, Marquis de Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan had been close friends of Alexander Hamilton, that there was a time they considered him a brother. Burr lived in the present, waiting for the opportunities to present themselves; Lafayette lived in the future, planning ahead of the rest whatever needed planning. That left Hercules to live in the past, where Hamilton still clung to his friends.

Philip _Hamilton_ was the spitting image of his father sometimes but resembled him more in personality than anything. Though he did not have the major flaw that led to his father’s downfall: that drive, that drive that would make Hamilton destroy himself to gain something. Philip never had to prove himself like his father had to, nor like Hercules even, he was nineteen, yes, a man who should already fathered sons and built his own name but he lacked that cynicism one must have to face the cruel world.

Was Hercules the only one who saw that?

Philip had been born nine months after Hamilton’s banishment, and out of protection for the name and house, Lord Schuyler had made up an eccentric web of lies that made it possible for Eliza to keep her honor yet not her dignity, Hercules remembered. Lord Schuyler had not much love for Hamilton and did not even told him about he had a son. It was Peggy that wrote him that Eliza had given birth to his son, even then he did not return.

But that was not known by anyone outside House Schuyler and Washington; Outside of the doors and walls of Castle Round, Philip was only a bastard and Eliza a whore, even the bigger than life Hercules Mulligan could not prepare the little man from that.

“Do not give us that look, Hercules,” Angelica Schuyler said. “Do not do as if you’re the only one who cares about Philip.”

“Will you finally tell him that his father wasn’t some common soldier who died in the war but rather the _king_ of the five kingdoms?”

“I think age has made you soft,” Lord Schuyler’s tone became bitter. “Philip Schuyler is nineteen-years-old, his childhood ended long ago, he is no boy, he is a man. And men do not need shielding and protection like they maidens or girls. At his age, you and I had killed and were to be killed; do not treat him as he is a child.”

“His name is Philip _Hamilton_ , with all respect, my lord,” Hercules spat back. “And he is now our prince and his father the king of the five kingdoms. You cannot longer deny him his claim.”

“And you seem to forget that he was born out of wedlock and that _Hamilton_ never marry. He is nothing, just a bastard’s son until the king claims him his heir. Careful with your mouth, Mulligan, your loyalties still lie with our house first.”

“I swore to keep House Schuyler and its descendants safe; Philip is part of this house. I am just doing my duty.”

“Enough,” Eliza’s sharp voice pierced the discussion. “None of this matter if Alexander is not found. All we can do as for now, is wait and prepare. Fighting about bloodlines is as dumb as we can get.”

She turned to see Hercules. “You knew my husband; decades might have passed since the last time you spoken but you were one of his closest friends. I need you, _I_ , Elizabeth Schuyler of House Schuyler, to go with my son and find Alexander.”

Eliza barely spoke about Hamilton nowadays; she didn’t say much to Philip about his father the ‘soldier’ who got killed in the war. But in those small instances, or big ones like these, she would always refer to Alexander as her husband even though they had never married. That unnerved Lord Schuyler who had enough problems thanks to Hamilton’s pants but for Hercules, he thought of it sweet, of that sweet love she still carried with for him.

“Husband? _Husband_?” Lord Schuyler said with disgust. “Daughter, you only maintain your honor because you’re a Schuyler. Don’t stain this house’s honor by calling that man your husband, and Mulligan _stays_ here.”

Peggy intervened. She was one of the youngest sisters and usually was left out but more often than not, she was the voice of sanity in troubled times. “If we send Hercules with Philip, we risk that the men who want the throne for themselves to suspect of him. Hercules is, after all, the captain of our house’s guard.”

“My lord,” Hercules looked at Lord Schuyler as he knelt. “You _must_ tell Philip that Alexander is his father, if he is to embark in this mission.”

“If he is to find Alexander is his father then he becomes biased.”

Hercules frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lord.”

“If by chance he gets captured, it’s best if people don’t know he is the son of Alexander, not until that man gets his throne.”

“He is still nineteen, even if my father thinks he’s a man,” Angelica said. “And he has never seen or lived a war, he doesn’t know what is to lead to a battle. It’s best he doesn’t know everything.”

 _There it was_. Hercules frown went deeper. _What are you Schuylers hiding if you trust him to get his father but not enough to tell him he’s his father?_ The Schuylers valued honor and integrity above anything like the Burrs valued knowledge and discretion, which meant that there was more to the story. Hercules always noticed the small things, and he knew Eliza would have not stayed this silent, even more if it was his son going for that bastard of his father.

 _What made you Schuylers form a meeting this early in the morning?_ Hercules thought. _What is that you fear will compromise your honor and integrity?_

Then it hit him.

“You’re afraid of Philip,” even the words were extraordinary to say.

Lord Schuyler reddened by anger and Hercules knew he was right.

Hercules Mulligan got up, and then decided to concentrate in the big things. He remembered the house’s words _That Would Be Enough_. They were the ones that knew when it was time to stop, not overambitious nor stupid to do nothing, they were enough to prosper without getting overboard. House Hamilton was the opposite; Hercules didn’t know their house’s words before Alexander became their only heir but he knew by heart the words Alexander had engraved in his chest plate with his lion emblem.

_Eyes Up, Wise Up, Rise Up._

He had asked Alexander what it meant and jokingly he had answered. “Couldn’t put _I’m not throwing way my shot_ ; it was too long. It’s a promise, of some sorts.”

Hercules later learned that was a promise as much as it was a threat; When House Hamilton got a goal in their head, nothing and no one was going to stop them from achieving it. Alexander was true to his word; he never did shut up nor he ever gave up when he had a goal in his mind, he definitely did not yield to anyone and he rose up through the ranks. Hercules learned really quick that House Hamilton valued ambition and legacy over everything and anyone.

 _Philip is as much of a Hamilton as he is a Schuyler_. Hercules finally understood. He went back to the previous train of thought; _Philip Hamilton was the spitting image of his father sometimes but resembled him more in personality than anything_. And there was the key, _resembled him more in personality than anything_.

“You’re afraid that once he learns the Bastard Knight is his father, he will become like him.”

“Reckless, impatient, impulsive and self-destructive. That was Alexander Hamilton and those qualities took him to a dungeon, that fool’s blood run through the veins of my grandson and I won’t have another Hamilton ruin the honor of this house.” Lord Schuyler looked somewhere between angry and bored.

Hercules Mulligan said nothing, he had defied his place enough for a day and by how the lord’s mood soured with each passing second, he figured it would not be long enough until he decided to punish him in some way. In the end, it all narrowed to the fact he was just captain of the guard and this was beyond his abilities. He could not say that he agreed with the method they were using, in fact, he was disagreeing out loud but even the shouts of Hercules would not change Schuyler’s mind.

There was nothing left to say, or at least not to Hercules. He didn’t understand why they would ask Philip to go find the new king but feared he would become his image if he was to find out his true parentage; it seemed counterproductive in some way; however, this was no longer Mulligan’s place to find out.

“I should leave, my lord, Philip has just barely a day to prepare for the journey, I must go to him,” he bowed his head.

Schuyler sighed. “Go, go. Before he does something reckless.”

As Hercules turned around to the massive door, he could not help but wonder if perhaps this wasn’t about Philip at all, maybe they were not trying to protect the nineteen years old from Alexander. He pondered that maybe, maybe it was them _using_ Philip to get to Alexander in one piece.

* * *

The Citadel was upside down. The king was dead and the whole castle was in this sort of limbo where they didn’t know what to do; the king was dead, and he had not left any heirs to take the throne. A realm without a king was a dangerous thing, the Council of Five needed to make a decision and quick, they risked people to take up the claim of the throne, they risked political instability.

Lord Thomas Jefferson was in his office in the West Wing. It was the closest to the king’s quarters which was smart given the fact he spent more time counselling the king than anything. It was not that big or pretentious but Thomas had found a way to make it look powerful, it was made of beautiful concrete bricks that had been painted in a dark shade of purple and when the sun hit at the right angle, it made the whole room bleed red. The desk was made of an oak tree, the biggest they found and its center front was carved with the shape of the bear.

While lords and high-ranking men were running from here to there in search of an answer or a savior, Thomas was sitting in his chair with the window open and his pen in front of him. The sun had already rose from the horizon and the ravens had already been sent to the whole realm about the sad news of the king’s passing. Soon, the lords of the five kingdoms would be as hurried as the men in the Citadel.

Thomas didn’t think much of it.

Of course, he was saddened and surprised about the king’s sudden death; he was a fair man that led with sense. But what good would it come to him if he kept going around and round the fact he died? Not much. The king was dead and that was that, no worry in the whole realm would bring him back, it was useless to worry about his passing.

Thomas always was one to think about the future and prosperity before anything else. _Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness_ , that was his house’s words, the ones that he wore proudly and lived by. The pursuit of happiness right now was to find a new king, no doubt that the late King Washington left no sons. The problem—or more like _obstacle_ that blocked the pursuit of peace was the ‘who would become the new king’?

There were only a few bunches of houses that really mattered to push a king. The Burrs wait then accept whichever man came up and took up the claim as long as they got something in return, that house had very few loyalties, they would give their swords to the highest bidder. Jefferson’s house would surely support someone who had enough swords, if there would be a battle. House Madison was tricker, they didn’t like war and physical conflict, they would support whoever could bring them peace by words.

The Schuylers, those were the ones that were sly. They were from the old times; they would accept no king that didn’t have a rightful or lawful claim; they didn’t like war but they would not shy away from it if it was needed.

Then, oddly and out of place, he remembered a thing Alexander Hamilton had told him long ago. “If you stand for nothing, then, what do you fall for?”

That man had a great mind, a quick tone and a charming personality; he understood politics well and had proven to be capable for hiding his true motives in order to get them done. Sadly, he did not heed Aaron Burr’s advice _Talk less, smile more_ and his abrasiveness, impulsivity and need to be right all the time cost him his eye and title. Thomas detested Hamilton and was happy he was gone but he would not deny the genius that was his mind.

_Eyes Up, Wise Up, Rise Up._

There was a knock on his door and Charles Lee, the captain of the Fortress guard, spoke from outside. “Lord Madison and Burr ask to see you, my lord.”

 _Took them long enough_. Thomas didn’t bat an eye nor he wasted a heartbeat. “Let them in.”

Madison looked as sick as always, carrying tissue with him and red on the face from supposedly coughing. Burr looked bored as ever, though he was always bored; Thomas trusted Burr far less than he did Hamilton, that man at least stood firmly for his beliefs, Burr never stood for nothing. Lord Madison wore a golden with green embroidery tunic while Burr wore white cape over his dark brown tunic.

“My lords, what do I own this pleasure?” He tried to be courteous.

“Adams is complaining, he is asking the Council to decide a new king in less than twenty-four hours,” Lord Madison explained. “He thinks the whole realm might lose its head in twenty-five hours.”

“Lord Adams is a great friend but lacks too much common sense, all that might lose its head is himself. The realm can understand the obstacle we have encounter, in the end, it will take time for the news to travel.”

“But travel they will. Faster than normal, too,” Lord Burr interjected. “The news of the death of the king will become a priority. Rumors are spreading, that’s far worse.”

“Rumors are just that, rumors. Unless someone with evidence goes and recognize them.” Jefferson knew how to deal with those men.

“If you heard the rumors, believe me, you wouldn’t be able to recognize them if you want to keep your head in your shoulders where it belongs.”

“If they bother you so much, why don’t _you_ speak of them. You’re part of the Council, we won’t have your head on a spike.”

Burr scoffed. “No, but you surely will take away my land and my eye.”

 _You learned nicely_. Thomas just gave a dangerous smile as he leaned in his chair. He looked at Madison. “The Queen?”

“She’s devastated, of course, she loved her husband. She hasn’t been a nuisance, not yet, at least. Doesn’t leave her husband’s corpse alone and doesn’t let anyone near him.”

“I hope you have given her your deepest condolences.”

“Our king was a valiant and just king; his departure is like a knife to the heart. Of course, we gave her our condolences.” Madison’s tone was at the edge of mockery.

“Then our small nuisance is still the heir question.”

Lord Madison opened his mouth to speak but from it just came another fit of cough. In his place, Lord Burr spoke. “We know you want to take the claim.”

Surprise, surprise. Well, not much of a surprise there. It would be stupid even for a man as immoral as Burr to not think he wanted the throne. And he deserved the throne, for he had worked hard the last nineteen years and he wanted his reward. There was nothing wrongful with claiming the crown, the king was dead and had no heirs nor living relatives; Thomas was his Right which meant _he_ should take the throne.

In the end, the king would’ve died anyways, death catches even the sharpest eagle.

“There’s nothing wrong in that, I was the king’s Right for twenty years, it would be rightful.”

Madison’s cough fit had dialed down enough for him to speak again. “Lord Adams has also expressed the desire of being king, his arguments are that he is or was, the king’s Left.”

Jefferson laughed. “Being the Left of the King is basically useless, Adams did nothing in twenty years of rule, and now he wants to be king? He should go ask his pal George the third how incompetents make great kings.”

“He argues that the Left of the King was the most important position when it was made.”

“It was important, that’s true,” he agreed as he tilted his head to think. “But that position was important because Alexander Hamilton made it important, once he was banished from Citadel Fortress, there was nothing important to that job.”

Burr’s eyes traveled to the end of Jefferson’s desk where in a glass container, with gods knew what kind of liquids, swam the right eye of Alexander Hamilton almost colorless and gooey. “You really love that thing, don’t you?”

“It’s just a mere warning, my good lord.”

“You do realize Adams loves fighting, right? If you deny him the claim, he will call his banners and fight.”

“It’s _my_ claim, by law. He can go fuck himself, I have stood in this position that was made for me and not someone else, for twenty years. He can wait another twenty if he wishes. Maybe then. He might have earned it.”

The silence that followed _did_ surprise Jefferson, who thought higher of those men, and for what it seemed, he had thought wrong. Their silence disgusted Thomas who scoffed and waved his hand in an undignified motion.

“You think he’s a _threat_? That Lord Adams is a fucking threat?”

“He has the connections.” Burr said. “And the army favors the Left.”

“I think it’s still to early to say.” Madison’s tone changed, now more courteous and fuller of shit.

“Alexander Hamilton was a threat, and remember what happened to him?” He pointed to the jar. “If I could get rid of him, I can easily get rid of Adams if I need to. I can get rid of you two, as well. The king might have died but I’m still the Right.”

And in a more somber tone, he added. “It’s my rightful claim and I have waited long enough for it; I will take it and I don’t care if I have to bleed dry the realm.”

* * *

“Your father was a poet, did you know?” Mulligan said and made Philip’s swing miss the target.

The sword was of hard steel, it didn’t break easily and in the reflection of the sun, it shone silver—a beautiful silver. It was a few feet in length, not long enough so Philip would be awkward but long enough. The handle was made of copper, the good kind of copper and carved in it was the sun of the Schuylers. It was called _Sunray_ and story went that Jeremiah, his uncle, had blinded an enemy with the sun rays that ricocheted from the new formed steel and defended rightfully his land.

It was midday and Mulligan had made Philip train in the yard non-stop, he had come from that meeting angry and in a sour mood which made him very silent until now. “What?” He lowered the sword.

“Your father was a man of many talents; he was a great swordsman but he was also a good writer. He wrote poems to your lady mother when they met.”

“Was he as great as that knight, Alexander Hamilton?”

Mulligan frowned and Philip felt the ‘sorry’ coming up from his throat but the guard said. “In a way, yes, believe me, I was his friend too.”

“Really? Was he a good man?” Philip’s curiosity overwhelmed his training.

“He was a good man. He came to the five kingdoms at your age, he cared about the people he loved. But sadly, he grew to care and obsess for his legacy and ambition until he was willing to do whatever it took, rightfully, of course, to get it. He was a man who cared too much about how other people saw him.”

“How am I supposed to find him? I don’t even know how he looks like.”

Hercules chuckled. “Well, he’ll be missing a right eye, he’s left-handed, you won’t see many swordsmen with that trait, and he will probably be carrying pen and paper, gods know how much he loved and needed to write.” The nostalgic sigh made Philip believe he missed his friend. “Last time he was seen was up North, around Yok, you’ll start from there.”

There was a pause in which Philip put down his sword. “Did my father ever meet me?”

“No, he did not,” Mulligan’s bluntness hurt but Philip wasn’t going to let it shine, he was nineteen for gods’ sake. “He died before your mother got time to tell him.”

 _He wrote back, he did not return to meet you but he wrote you a poem, he knows your name_. Hercules bit his lip. _That we kept from your grandfather, and you too_. “Don’t use your name, Philip, when you meet him; if he gets captured, he will say a false name and you might be saved.”

Philip nodded slowly. “That’s smart.” He picked the sword again. “Now, no cheating.” He placed himself in a fighting position.

“One more thing, Philip, before we resume.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t trust him. If you do, you might run the chance of being hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really watch Hamilton all over again at 3 AM to be broken into tears because I needed to write the end at that exact moment? Yeah, I did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord—because he was a lord, Lafayette gave a small chuckle as he shook his head. “I might be one of the few men left in this earth that stays loyal to his wife.”
> 
> “The wife will be there when you come back, the whores, however, they might be gone forever.”
> 
> “And that’s how bastards are born, believe me, captain, I wish not to father any bastards of my own.”
> 
> “I have fathered many bastards, I believe, none know me,” the man said nonchalant. “Only have two legitimate sons, but what are they going to inherit? This ship?” He joked.
> 
> “Bastards are a complicated breed, I’m afraid. More cynical than honorable men. But they make good friends and soldiers.”
> 
> The captain looked at him as if he just remembered who he was talking to. “Alexander Hamilton—”
> 
> “He was a bastard, indeed, but he was a good friend and a good soldier,” Lafayette said.

The Outer Islands were mediocre set of three islands in the east south sea of the Five Kingdoms. They were really hot, humid and lacked any tropical wonder that would’ve made them a paradise. Their habitants were extremely poor, lacked food, shelter and any other resource needed to survive. Once long time ago, longer than the oldest man in them, they had been a kingdom of their own with the tropical wonder and swords that made them a mighty foe. Their capital, the isle of Vis, had been the stronghold of the kingdom with magnificent fortresses, a great castle and prosper lands.

Lin thought that was full of bullshit.

The isle of Vis was now a wasteland, a hot and humid wasteland where they were overpopulated and lacked any kind of resource thought possible. The magnificent fortresses were now rubble just waiting for the wind to take them, the great castle was a place where the really, _really_ unlucky people went to sleep and never woke up again, and the prosper lands were long gone, in their place only ash and dried earth. Whatever great and mighty kingdom had laid their capital there, had long been gone.

Lin considered himself relative lucky; he had shelter and he had a job, sometimes he lacked food but to have two out of three in that isle was a goddamn miracle. He was barely twenty, had dark charcoal black hair with a powerful brown in his eyes and he was lean yet not that bulky but held his own with a sword perfectly fine. He was born in the isle of Vis and had never known the Five Kingdoms.

He also had no relatives, or at least, no relatives _in_ the isle. He knew his uncle was somewhere in the Five Kingdoms being an asshole to someone, though he had never met him. Lin’s father had perished in a storm that had shaken the damned island some ten years ago and his mother had died five years after thanks to the famine that plagued that place. But Lin was smart, he was bold and he knew how to talk; since he was a kid, he managed to find ways to survive, some were not as honorable as one would think but he found out honor rarely made you live to your eighties.

Everyone in that isle knew him, how could they not? He was a fervent believer in changing the isle for the better, people thought he was naïve, others thought he was cynical enough to survive as a politician yet the majority agreed he was a great revolutionary and leader but lacked patience and compromise. However, when one person was the only one fighting for your well-being, you didn’t talk shit about him, you followed him.

Lin knew the root of the problem was the mainland, the damned five kingdoms that King Washington ruled. A couple of hundred years ago, some stupid knight decided to invade the Outer Islands and failed miserable yet he persevered and persevered, he ended up marrying his grandson with the granddaughter of the Isle King to then slit his throat while he slept. Ever since then, the isles had been thrown into chaos; the house had been long dead yet no one stepped in and claimed the throne because they now depended on the five kingdoms for most survival skills yet they had forgotten about them.

Lin wanted to change that, and he did not care if he had to spill some blood along the way. The hatred for the king and the mainland was something everyone shared, and if only they were soldiers and not beggars, they would have joined in a mighty revolution. Sort of one like the king had started so long ago.

“I heard there’s a ship coming from the Five Kingdoms late today.” A costumer from the butcher’s shop where Lin worked said as he chose his cut of pigeon meat. The only kind of meat that the isle could afford.

“Yeah, well, whatever they want to do here, they will find it impossible,” he replied as he swung the knife down the pigeon’s neck spilling blood to his apron.

The costumer was an old man, his hair growing less and less with each passing day and more in his ears and nose. “Thought you would be interested in it.”

“Why?”

“It could mean your way out of here.”

Lin frowned. He admitted in his head and out loud that there were times he wished he could get out of that isle yet he felt he was needed there, if he was to go, who would fight for them while he was absent?

“As if any merchant would accept me, they don’t care.”

The costumer scoffed. “You are not destined for this kind of life, Lin. You are destined for greater things yet they will not be done here. If only they knew your name, then they would accept you. We all know that you will be the man who frees us, gods be willing.”

“You’re talking about my uncle, aren’t you? Comparing me to him.”

“He was a great man, he had that same drive and passion you have, that drive in your soul to do incredible things. But he was smart, he knew he couldn’t accomplish anything in this wasteland so, he left. And look what he accomplished.”

Lin chuckled. “Last I heard he was banished from the capital and stripped of his titles to become a beggar.”

Franklin Hamilton or known as Lin Hamilton was the son of James the second of House Hamilton, brother to Alexander Hamilton the Bastard Knight. His uncle was highly controversial in that isle, everyone acclaimed his good fortune and success in the mainland yet spat at him because he had forgotten them too. One could hate a man for one thing and then love him for another, Lin knew.

“But he became a mainland beggar, that’s still superior to us.”

“And he forgot us,” Lin spat bitterly.

The costumer took the meat and gave him a soft look. “You won’t, _au contraire_ , you will fight for us.”

“Take your meat, old man, and be gone from my eyes.”

“I don’t have to pay you?”

“No one has to pay me anything, I do not own anything of yours. This is food, it’s essential. And you’re old, I don’t think the boss will find out I gave a fucking pigeon to an old beggar.”

The old man smiled and pointed at him with a proud motion. “There is our king, the King of the Isles.”

 _The King of the Isles_. Lin knew his history, he loved it in fact, he thought you could learn a lot from the past that you could use for the present and the future. _It has a nice ring to it, not going to lie but the last King of the Isles was backstabbed by his own blood_.

To leave the isle was something really few had done, the last one had been his uncle which gave you a clear and grim reality check. Before the whole ‘pay money to a ship’s captain so, he may let you aboard’ thing, first a ship had to make port in Vis, and there weren’t many ships that did so. There was nothing that Vis offered merchants, it was a cruel land to live on where the only thing worth mentioning was perhaps their liquor that was much spicier and stronger than usual mainland liquor. So, a ship only came once every two months and that was about it. Then, there was the money question; merchants knew the dire situation the habitants were in and so, as the assholes they were, profited from it, asking too much money if one wished to board.

Not everyone was a damned genius that could write his way out of that damned isle.

 _The King of the Isles_.

Lin was a proud Hamilton but was not proud of his uncle too much. He had forgotten his own brother in that isle, his own blood. Lin had heard the new mantle Alexander had given House Hamilton _Eyes Up, Wise Up, Rise Up_ , and he did not deny that was a damn good mantle that represented him. Maybe even the whole house. Lin had his own plans for House Hamilton too, he had redesigned their house logo to represent the ideas the revolutionary Hamilton had. The lion stayed, for that was a sign of courage and leadership but instead of a plain background, he had given it a red star.

The mantle could stay the same for all he cared.

He cleaned up the blood spilled from the previous pigeon as he prepared the next one, he did not mind it, he was used to it yet he had never killed anyone, he knew the blood of a pigeon was different than one of a human even though they bled the same color, what differentiate it was the status. A human’s life was worth more than a pigeon, sometimes even more than another human.

 _King of the Isles_. That did not sound as half as bad as it should have sounded, it sounded powerful, important and mighty. _Franklin Hamilton of House Hamilton, the Revolutionary, first of his name and King of the Isles_. It sounded better than Alexander Hamilton the Bastard Knight or how he went by nowadays in the island, the One-Eye Beggar.

Lin could make something of himself. He knew how to see the opportunities; he knew how to talk to people and he could find someone to be patient for him.

Lin’s revolution was fueled by anger, resentment and vengeance as much as it was for hope, opportunity and future. He wanted his isle to be free yet he wanted to see the mainland bleed. He wanted to see it bleed fiery red, like the blood of that pigeon. He wanted the lives of his people to be worth more than those of high lords for the first time.

* * *

Gilbert a-ton-shit-of-names Lafayette was used to the sea, he had travel by sea the first time when he came to support King Washington’s revolution, and then had many hundreds of travels to different places to get support and swords and men and banners. His second home was the sea by now, and he enjoyed it. He liked the dark blue water that hid mermaids, monsters of all kinds and secrets lost forever; he liked the motion of the waves, how they rocked you to a gentle sleep if you only knew how to welcome them. He also enjoyed the time aboard a ship, it gave you time to ponder and get to know yourself, it gave you insight.

Many of his key opinions that had made the revolution a success had been thought of in the sea. He welcomed it as sailor who only love was the sea. But he was a soldier first and would be a soldier the day he’d died; he had known lovers that were not the sea, he had seen the blood spill in green lands and not splattered in the water; he had heard the swift of the sword penetrate human flesh and not the one penetrating a sea monster. He could enjoy the sea and be jealous of the luck some sailors had but he would never become one of them. Lafayette was a soldier until the day the gods took him to the Tlan.

The isle of Vis was his next stop, he had traveled for two days now non-stop and had been told that at any moment they would arrive. Lafayette had never been to Vis but knew his good friend Alexander was from that isle; the isle that he had heard was drowning in poverty and misery. He had made the travel because of a business venture and by that it meant tasting the hard and spicy liquor they had and sell it in the Five Kingdoms; he was sure King Washington would fancy a bottle.

His train of thoughts came to a sudden turn when he remembered Alexander, his good friend and soldier. He wondered why he talked too little of his homeland and if he would find him in it after his banishment. King Washington had been merciful, he hadn’t ban him from the whole kingdoms but to Alexander he might as well did.

He came to the deck where the captain and few of his workmen laid. He could make up the isle from the distance, and it wasn’t that big. He frowned and walked closer to the captain until he was shoulder to shoulder with that man. “You, my good man, that have made previous travels to the isle, what can you tell me?”

Sometimes Lafayette forgot he was Lord Lafayette and people treated him like a substitute of royalty; for him, he was Gilbert, the same old soldier who pranked John Laurens after a small victory twenty-four years ago.

“Well, my lord,” the captain pondered on his words. “Not much I’m afraid. Extreme poverty, famine and death, not a beauty like other isles but then again, the Outer Islands were never much. People are miserable there, not a happy place, for sure, my lord.”

“Nothing worth my attention then?”

“The alcohol, that’s about it. The Visian alcohol is the best one I ever tasted, and that’s saying something, my lord. That’s the only reason that isle hasn’t drown to the sea. I heard it had been a mighty kingdom back when the Five Kingdoms were four. Nothing of that isle is mighty now.”

“What about the people?” Surely there was something that made Alexander Hamilton be who he was.

“House Hamilton is the only important house that has come from that isle. The people will sell you stories of the Bastard Knight for money, half of them I bet didn’t even know him. They are good merchants but miserable people. Hold a lot of hatred against the Five Kingdoms and their king.”

That took him by surprise given the fact that Alexander had idealized George Washington since the day they met, calling him Your Grace even when he wasn’t king. Even before he joined the revolution, he believed the mad king wasn’t so mad after all. To hear his people hated the Five Kingdoms was oddly contradictory to what Alexander’s beliefs.

“Is that so?”

“They think they still can be the ‘prosperous’ kingdom of ancient time,” he said the word prosperous as a mockery of some sort. “Of course, they’re foolish to do so, my lord.”

“All the contrary, my good captain, the men who speak beliefs are brave _but_ those who speak their beliefs are rarer. It takes a good lot of courage to speak up against a land where they could easily send them battalions to remind them of their love.”

The captain shrugged. “As you say, my lord.”

 _So, that’s where the little lion’s unpopular opinions came from_. Lafayette found it amusing that perhaps the only thing the Left of the King took with him when he left his homeland was their knack for speaking their unpopular beliefs. He applauded those men and women and children, yet realized how little chance there was of them making a revolution. Only a man like Alexander would think of it.

“There also good women there, almost as spicy and fiery as their alcohol,” the captain added with a mischief grin that give up the experience behind those words.

Lord—because he was a lord, Lafayette gave a small chuckle as he shook his head. “I might be one of the few men left in this earth that stays loyal to his wife.”

“The wife will be there when you come back, the whores, however, they might be gone forever.”

“And that’s how bastards are born, believe me, captain, I wish not to father any bastards of my own.”

“I have fathered many bastards, I believe, none know me,” the man said nonchalant. “Only have two legitimate sons, but what are they going to inherit? This ship?” He joked.

“Bastards are a complicated breed, I’m afraid. More cynical than honorable men. But they make good friends and soldiers.”

The captain looked at him as if he just remembered who he was talking to. “Alexander Hamilton—”

“He was a bastard, indeed, but he was a good friend and a good soldier,” Lafayette said.

“Was he innocent?”

 _It was never my place to say he was or was not. But I believe Alexander Hamilton never would had betrayed his king._ “The king has given his justice and the gods have guided him.”

“Politics. Too complicated for the common man, my lord. We only wish to make our king happy, even if it means going to that hellhole of Vis for good liquor,” the man looked at the isle growing closer and closer. “Port is right there, my lord, we be touching land in matter of minutes. I am needed, with all due respect.”

True to his word, the isle of Vis was growing closer and closer with every passing minute. _Port_ was a really kind word to what he was looking in front of him, it wasn’t a port at all. Someone had erected one wooden bridge that seemed like it was going to sink at any moment, there were only two small boats (yes, boats) that were fishing boats and the coast was almost deserted with the exception of some fishermen and merchants. It didn’t look like any port Lafayette had seen before, it was miserable and pitiful.

The ship didn’t have a hard time making port, there were empty spaces all over the coast. The air was humid and hot, that one that makes you sweat from your insides, there was no breeze which made it annoying but Lafayette wasn’t one to complain, he only hid a smile when he remembered Alexander complaining on how windy and cold the Five Kingdoms were compared to his homeland; now he saw why.

However, Lafayette was in good humor, he loved a good adventure with some obstacles that made you prove yourself. He bid farewell to the captain knowing fully well they were not going to leave without him. He had to assure the captain he would do fine in that isle. The minute he stepped off the boat, the merchants and fishermen that were working stopped; they looked at the stranger as if he was an alien, some looked at him with curiosity, others with hope yet most of them with hatred. He realized very quickly that his own clothes screamed his status and richness.

He wore a cape over his dark blue tunic with golden silk embraided in it and his sword was out in the view so everyone could see.

He said nothing as he walked away from the port, he was used to people looking at him weirdly, it was part of his job. Even his friends—the people he called friends now—had looked at him with skepticism back then. The captain had given him directions to find the merchant that sold the liquor but Lafayette wasn’t in any hurry to search the man, he had two days to pass in that isle, he was going to explore the ruins of the fortress, the castle and get to know more of that isle’s history.

The thing that was really present in that place was the poverty and misery, the captain hadn’t lied. It seemed a whole ‘nother world, filled with sadness and hardship. There were no roads, he walked in rocks and earth that hadn’t been properly shaped; the buildings were made of wood and the wood was rotten giving an awful smell to the wind; the people were too thin and their clothes too ragged and dirty. Throughout his life, Lafayette had seen worse, it’s true but most of those ‘worse’ were places that had been touched by war, the isle of Vis didn’t see a war since the day their king was murdered, and yet they lived as if they were in constant war with no sign of a truce in the horizon.

He made a mental note to tell King Washington right after he stepped on their land.

_“That isle is truly lost,” Hamilton said. “I’ll go back when the day of my demise approaches.”_

Lafayette wondered if his friend was in the isle but saw it as highly unlikely, Alexander had never been too fond of his homeland, he didn’t see the possibility of that man returning where it seem he wasn’t that loved.

He wondered on the streets, everywhere he stepped people eyed him, as if he was some sort of plague. It was hard to imagine Alexander Hamilton grew up in such place, in such misery and poverty, he really made sure to make everyone forget that. Lafayette remembered how his friend would frown whenever someone brought up his homeland, how quickly he would change of subject whenever one would ask about his origins. He made sure that everyone forgot Alexander Hamilton was of that isle in the middle of nowhere. His enemies, Lafayette noted, always scorned him about it. They would say ‘a man who is not proud of where he comes from, is no man of honor’.

Marquis de Lafayette soon realized, quicker than his friends Hercules or Laurens, that Hamilton would throw honor out of the window when no one saw, in the shadows yet would paint himself the most honorable man in front of men such as King Washington.

Alexander’s sigil should’ve been a fox or a snake rather than a lion, Lafayette used to joke yet no one seemed to get it.

There wasn’t much to see in the isle of Vis, there was a lot of green and a lot of trees yet there were no farms and no fruit. There were a lot of pigeons, that was evident but no cows or pigs. The buildings were in poor shape and he saw as three girls, not even twelve-years-old were led to a building by a man twice their age with a grin on his face. Their bodies were malnourished and they looked awfully grim, Lafayette wished to do something about but saw how counterproductive would it be to pick up fights with the locals.

King Washington had seen no issue with the fact young girls were led to brothels in Citadel Fortress and the Five Kingdoms; he did punish the men who were caught raping them by castrating them yet never did reform any law making it harder for the men to rape them, he did not outlaw the market of human beings either, in fact, he profited from that market by buying slaves—prisoners of war and criminals to become his servants. However, other men in the kingdoms didn’t always use criminals neither they became their servants.

Lafayette turned his eyes the other way.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” An accentuated voice spoke.

He turned around the direction of said voice and found its owner leaning in a wooden wall across the street. He looked in his mid-twenties, was lean of body, dark hair and tanned skin, his clothes and arms were bloodied and he had an odd familiarity that Lafayette couldn’t place.

He frowned.

“Those girls, I mean,” the man explained with a saddened look in his eyes. “They are going to suck that man’s dick for just some pennies that won’t even give them dinner, they’ll probably bear his children, too.”

The man walked towards Lafayette, his walk was one of confidence and determination, and there was still that familiarity that plagued his mind. The stranger went face to face with him and extended his hand, Lafayette looked at it for a few seconds then motioned the blood visible in them, the stranger laughed as he wiped them off in his clothes. “I have not killed anyone, I swear, I work at the butchery, hence the blood.”

“Yes,” he finally answered, still confused about the stranger’s kindness. “It’s a shame for the girls, and a shame for this whole isle, too.”

“Yeah well, we don’t have any kind of enforcement of the law here, we barely have jobs. Obviously, the resources are non-existent and well, not much we can do about. From what I heard, the king thinks this type of stuff is a necessary evil to push his economy but hey, our economy here is pretty shit.”

Lafayette didn’t miss the words he chose, it seemed the stranger had chosen them on purpose; he noticed the way he addressed his king, how he said it was _his_ economy and not _their_ , that needed that ‘necessary evil’ he was talking about. So, this was the famous hatred turned in words that the habitants of this isle held against their king.

“It doesn’t help us much either but every man is flawed, even the king.”

“Oh, yes,” the stranger didn’t miss a beat. “But how many flaws can a king have before he stops being a flawed human to become an intolerable asshole? It seemed the king killed the previous one that held the answer.

Lafayette eyed the man then spoke. “Why are you talking to me, if I may ask?”

“Well, you must be the newcomer. This isle gets merchants every two months but none wear the clothes you wear or bears such sword as yours. You must be a really important man, and we don’t get important men in this place, I was curious, alas. It’s not a crime, and even if it was, no one would indict me for it.”

“So quick-witted, you remind me of a friend.”

“Then that friend must be a real smart man.”

“As vain too, it appears,” he smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?” The stranger gave him a smile as well. “Would we ever see each other again?”

“Perhaps not but perhaps yes.”

“Most probable not, sir.”

“Still,” Lafayette pushed. “I am of the old ways and I think it’s honorable to know the name of who am I speaking.”

The man scoffed. “In this isle honor only gives you death but fine, I shall do the _honorable_ thing by your standards. My name is Franklin but everyone here calls me Lin.”

 _My gods, this young man is as almost as vague as Alexander._ “Gilbert de Lafayette.”

“Lin,” the man repeated. “Lin Hamilton.”

Lafayette’s face fell. _Hamilton, did he just say ‘Hamilton’?_ The thought of Alexander finding his way to the island, again, made front page in his mind. Was this his son? Couldn’t be, the young man seemed in his mid-twenties and Alexander loved Eliza Schuyler too much to marry another woman. Was this his _bastard_ son? Did his friend had sex with an unknown woman and let her and the kid in the island? That seemed cruel, even for Alexander, and the stranger had presented himself with the Hamilton name, had he been a bastard he would get no name.

“As—as Alexander Hamilton?”

Lin frowned and tensed his shoulders. “Yeah, as the One-Eyed bastard. He’s my uncle.”

 _Uncle_. Uncle; that meant Alexander had a brother. The frown on Lafayette’s face went even deeper, when the hell had Alexander told them he had a brother? He had to dig deep in his memories, to a time when the king wasn’t the king and Alexander’s only lover was the young lord of House Laurens.

_“I have an older brother, or had, I really don’t know, last time I saw him he was working for the local carpenter.”_

“Oh, I see,” he said. “You don’t seem very happy I brought that up.”

“Shall we walk? This whole standing thing is making me tired and I still have a butchery to run.”

Lafayette nodded. The butchery he was talking about was right across the street and seemed as miserable and rotten as the rest of the building; when he entered, he saw no one there, pigeons were hung from the ceiling while living ones were in cages on the other side of the counter. He noticed how there were no people in the store.

Lin walked up to the counter and crossed it; from there he took three cages filled with at least six pigeons each and line them up to the side of the cutting board. “My uncle, he’s a touchy subject in this isle. People will tell you of his great deeds but believe he became one of your kind. Controversial from wherever you look at it.”

“And your parents?” He dared ask.

He flew down the butcher’s knife and the pigeon’s life was no more yet he shrugged at the question. “Dead. My father died ten years ago, my mother five. She didn’t seem fond of him either while my father wrote him letters non-stop.”

“I was friends of your uncle, back in the revolution. A close friend.”

“I bet he never once mentioned my father or this isle, and if he did, he did it with shame and disgust. I bet he doesn’t even know he has a nephew, for all he knows, he’s the last Hamilton alive. His vanity is bigger than mine, sir.”

“You seem to know a lot about your uncle even though you have never met him.” His tone was curious and invited to talk, Lafayette had a knack for that.

Another pigeon’s head flew off.

“I heard enough about him. The people in this isle call him a genius, and I guess they’re right, he got off this place and never once thought to come back. Oh, no, he was made a knight, then he was made the Left of the King, and he never once wrote back to my father. He forgot about his home, he wore your clothes, spoke with your accent and worshipped your gods and fought for your but in the end, he was still one of us; rumor is that he was banished and now bears one eye.”

“Falsely accused though but the king gave his justice.”

“The fuck does the king know? Oh, don’t look at me like that, I may have committed treason myself right now but as I’ve said, no one here cares about the king’s rules. It’s all the same for us, we are still miserable and poor. A king dies for another one to take its place until he dies the same way as the last, a cycle.”

Lafayette frowned. “King Washington is very healthy; he won’t die yet.”

Lin laughed. “The last King of the Isles was healthy too, healthy as the jaguar that held his house but you know what happened? He got his throat slit by his own blood in the middle of the night. Wasn’t the last king healthy too?”

“So much cynicism for a man your age? How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

It was Lafayette turn to laugh. “By gods’, I thought you older.”

“I get that a lot.”

“And you, what are your plans? A man such as yourself, a Hamilton nonetheless, would have bigger ambitions than cutting pigeon’s heads off.”

“I want my isle to be free. Free of the Five Kingdoms and free of its misery. Many of the habitants encourage me to leave it, I have been considering.”

“Like your uncle did?”

“The difference is that I would fight for my country, I would fight until there is not blood left to give. You people, you keep fighting about your stupid bloodlines; the Jeffersons, the Schuylers, the Burrs yet you bleed the same blood, the fuck does it matter? Blood sometimes is cunning and toxic.”

“No many men in the Five Kingdoms have your set of beliefs,” Lafayette admitted as he saw Lin skin a pigeon. “Your uncle certainly did not, he was obsessed with his house when he arrived.”

“That man must think he’s the king’s son. He forgets that if he is, then my father was too and by default it would be _me_ the rightful heir.” His hands peeled the skin as more blood ooze out of the body and stained his hands. “Yet I do not wish your crown.”

“Do you vision yourself having any crown?”

“I vision myself helping my people, really helping them, unlike your kings and lords. They think just because they don’t see the poverty, it’s not there yet they forget that without the common men they would be nothing.”

Now Lafayette did something he would later regret doing. “I have a ship, and you obviously captured my interest with this small conversation. I can see you can do many great things if the opportunities presented themselves. Come with me to the Five Kingdoms, I can give you a real education and you can come back maybe with your own men.”

Little did he know that Lin had specifically made the whole conversation to lead to that point. He would not pay any fare whatsoever and he, with such great luck, had just found one of the friends and perhaps lords of the court of the king. He almost felt bad for playing that man like that, making him believe those girls and that man had crossed his path by pure chance in the place where he laid taking his break. Arthur and his daughters would get food to last them weeks thanks to what they did, and Lin would finally get what he always wanted: a chance.

He could play the role of his steward; he could listen to his lessons and make him believe he could worship his gods. That poor lord had made the grave mistake of thinking he was like his uncle, that he could be swayed to be part of their culture. But Lin wanted his people’s freedom, and he could care less for his stupid culture and king. He had just found himself a man that could be patient and make compromises for him.

 _The King of the Isles_. He thought. _For the first time, my people will be worth more than yours and the suffering we have endure will be unleashed tenfold in return. Then you will see how it is to see your world burn._

“Can I at least think about it?”

“I have two days here; I will stay close to my ship. If you accept, then come to port, I’m sure you will see the ship stationed there.”

“I bet my uncle was a lucky man to have you as a friend.”

“And I was lucky to have him as my friend too.”

The last King of the Isles had been slaughtered by his own blood, that taught Lin to not trust even his blood. Fool man who thought Lin was his uncle, he would learn soon.

“Then I am honored to call you my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander did have a nephew who name was Franklin and it was pure coincidence that I connected that to 'Lin'. My favourite quote in this chapter would be. "he wore your clothes, spoke with your accent and worshipped your gods and fought for your but in the end, he was still one of us;" 
> 
> I dunno why. Anyways, I hope you like it and leave a comment if you did!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t know much of politics nor he knew much of war but he knew how to fight. Philip knew deep in his heart that he didn’t long fighting, war or death; since he was a kid, he had written the most beautiful poems or so his mother had said yet poems were not a man’s job and he had gulped his dreams away and focused on becoming a knight.
> 
> A poet searching for a king, that sounded like one of the ballads that those fool singers sung from time to time when they were in their travels.
> 
> Philip was a Schuyler, that was the mantra he kept repeating as he galloped through the valley, he was son of Elizabeth Schuyler who was daughter of Philip Schuyler. It was him, no one else, who would bring the rightful king Alexander Hamilton to the throne.
> 
> A part of him, however, wondered if he was really a Schuyler. Perhaps he was his father’s son.
> 
> But who was his father? He bit his lip and kept going

Philip resembled his father so much, Eliza knew better than anyone, especially now in the middle of the night as he prepared to leave her and the safety of Castle Round to find the old knight that was his father. Her heart ached even if it was her who had proposed the idea of letting her son be the one to search for Alexander, it had been out of spontaneity and practicality. No one in Castle Round had expected to get a raven with the news the king had died, and that the heir to the throne was no other than the man that she loved.

It placed her family in a spotlight she was not used to, a dangerous spotlight and a vulnerable one. Hercules was right; if Alexander was to be the new king, it meant Philip was the prince which made him as valuable in a war as his father. It didn’t matter if he had been born out wedlock, to Eliza, they had been married when they made love that one time, and she knew Alexander ( _hoped_ was the exact word but not that she wanted to admit it) and she knew he would not turn away from his blood, he would legitimize Philip right away.

The air was chilly but not as cold as the north that her son was heading to; she couldn’t help but stay awake in the stables waiting for her son to grab a horse and go off to an adventure, or so he called it. She had seen him work all the day, training with Hercules to perfected what he already knew, she had decided to go to the yard in one of those hours to watch them and got hit by the familiarity of it all.

She remembered one small comment from John Laurens, her husband’s lover, when they met in that winter’s ball; they were young and they were drinking and Laurens had seen through Alexander and seen in his eyes exactly what he feared when she walked into the room, that’s when his own eyes brought that glance of melancholy that a separation could only bring out. But he was drunk and he was living in the moment, and so he said to Eliza Schuyler.

“He’s something else, isn’t he? He’s a Hamilton, and those are the ones you got to watch out for. Want to know how? Their eyes, oh, their eyes; they have this drive and hungry determination same of a lion.”

Neither Laurens or Eliza had ever met another Hamilton apart Alexander, he was the last of his house and he was vague about his past before leaving the Outer Islands. He had a small almost unnoticeable accent and he reeked of salt and tropic earth, indeed, but he tried to hide it by imitating their words and wearing their clothes. Back then, there were no other Hamiltons that eyes showed a drive and hungry determination as his, those black charcoal eyes that penetrated your stare.

Now, when she saw her son train non-stop a few feet away from where she was, she saw his eyes—Alexander’s eyes—and she knew Laurens had been right. And she feared it, she feared it with all her being, and she wanted to call this off, she wanted so desperately for this to be a dream, to wake up knowing her king was alive, that her husband was the illegitimate son of the fourth son of an Outer Island noble descendant and her son was safe in the castle.

Sadly, it wasn’t the case and the gods were not merciful, Alexander himself had said so the night before they took his good eye and carved it out of his skin for his screams to fill the plaza and her dreams.

_“Those are the words of women, dear, and women are merciful and kind unlike life and the gods.”_

_Damn you, Alexander, you could’ve lied to me, you should’ve lied to me_. Eliza was never a woman of ambitions such as her sister, she took more of the mantle of her house than anyone else; all she wanted was to find a good husband, have children and live a good and unproblematic life but she had fallen in love with a lion and perhaps that had been her most dangerous move of all.

“My lady, what are you doing so late at night?” Hercules Mulligan’s voice was a mere whisper behind her.

She turned around, the candlelight illuminating the chest plate of her old friend, bigger than she ever would be, and she smiled. “I couldn’t sleep and I need to see him at least one last time.”

“The young prince is still dressing himself and the night is young, nothing ill will fall on him for the first days.”

She took notice at how he said _prince_ instead of lord. “I know how you feel about this, Hercules, I know it well. But it was me who proposed to send him to Alexander.”

The knight shifted in his feet. “Didn’t know so, my lady, and I’m afraid that confuses me even more. But Philip is a Hamilton, he will endure.”

“And Alexander is a Washington, so it seems.”

“So, it seems.” _But we both know he’s more a Hamilton than a Washington_. “I heard from old friends that our late king had been once as reckless as our bastard knight and look at the great man he became.”

“A dead man,” she spat with more bitterness than she wanted and shook her head. “Forgive me, Hercules, I am torn between doing the right thing and the selfish thing, I loved our king fiercely, I mean no disrespect to the late Grace.”

“We live in a world where we preach the rightful thing, the _honorable_ thing yet we act on selfishness, on ambition and power,” he said. “There is no wrongful at being in a crossroad between the rightful thing and the selfish one, my lady.”

“How do you do it? How do you choose the good one?”

“Well, one must close their eyes, cross their fingers and pray to the gods that you made the good decision. Most of the time is waiting for the consequences to appear.”

She chuckled. “No wonder why you men are always starting and fighting wars.”

He chuckled with her. “Eliza, I have known for decades now, when you make a decision you always end up making the right one.”

“Even sleeping with Alexander Hamilton?”

That took Hercules by surprised and he coughed. Eliza supressed a smile; the captain of guard wasn’t used to her making such jokes and she did not make them often. He smiled sheepishly as he held the handle of his sword. “Now, my lady, maybe that was the boldest decision you’ve made but here lays Philip as the result, you choose, if it was worth it or not.”

“John Laurens once told me that falling in love with a Hamilton was the same as writing your death sentence, that one gets lonely when you’re the second choice.”

“Never knew John spoke to you.”

She shrugged. “Very few times indeed, yet he gave me so much advice. He was perhaps the one that understood Alexander better than himself, and he knew it; he tried to warn me of Alexander’s self-destructiveness and his power to destroy others around him.”

Hercules liked to ignore sometimes the present, he was a man that lived in the past. “Was he that heartless, that cruel? I know John was cynical of him sometimes but Alexander always cared about his friends and loved ones and he believed fervently in the King.” _That, of course, is how I choose to remember him_.

_“I want my name, my house to live even when I’m rotting in the ground. So, can you blame if I want something to outlive me? It saddens me people think of me that way but they’re not wrong, I would and will do whatever it takes for my name to survive.”_

“I do not think he plotted against the king, if that’s what you’re asking me, he was too loyal for such crime but I think he had it in him to do whatever it took to get his way.”

The silence that followed was all the indication Eliza needed to know Hercules Mulligan knew the same as she. She pressed her lips together, she didn’t need his comfort words, she didn’t _his_ lies about how Alexander loved people and cared about them, she knew what her house and she were gambling setting Philip out to search for him. Perhaps better than anyone else. That’s why she wanted to wake up from the reality that she lived in because she knew what would happen if things went wrong.

“Eliza—”

She clutched the candlelight and her lips frowned. “He was _that_ heartless, he was _that_ cruel, Mulligan. He didn’t care who he had to destroy and who he had to sacrifice to get his name and legacy painted gold and white. He was honorable and charismatic? Yes, but make no mistake, the one thing he loved fiercely wasn’t me, it was his legacy and name.”

She remembered, even though she never gave Alexander any sign that she did, but she remembered well. His tongue was his biggest quality when the war had broken, his words made good arguments against the mad king’s reign and gained the revolution followers. But once the war had been won and everyone had bent the knee for Washington, his tongue had become his biggest flaw. And she remembered. Alexander Hamilton was a man who walked with the confidence of a highborn but deep down clutched to the fear and insecurity of an orphan bastard.

“My lord.”

Hercules’s words snapped Eliza out of her memories and realized Philip had arrived. He looked like a man as much as he looked like a boy. He wore warm clothes and she saw from the candlelight he was sweating but said nothing because he wanted to prove himself. The cape that he wore over the leather garments was made of the wolf fur; it wasn’t the finest for he was going to territories where it wasn’t much the exterior that matter rather the quality. Wolf fur didn’t look nice in capes but it was the one decisive thing that saved you from freezing in the North.

 _Sunray_ hung from his hip, secured and proud. Eliza was against letting Philip arm himself with a sword that screamed Schuyler like the one of her brother but her father had given the order, he was convinced that Philip needed to be labeled as part of House Schuyler in some way. But go figure men only see weapons as pride things to wear.

His face was still the one of a boy who had never seen a battle, never lived through a war and had never killed someone. It was the face of innocence. Eliza had been seventeen when the first war had broken, she had been a girl but when the war had finished, she had become a woman. Hercules and her knew that that innocence was soon going to be washed away.

“Mother, what are you doing here so late?” The young prince frowned.

“I wished to send you well and healthy.”

“There was no need for that. Hercules will guide me out of castle. No harm will come to me; mother, you must be exhausted from waiting. Go sleep.”

 _Already commanding, gods be merciful_. She gave him a smile in the faint candlelight. Then she walked towards him holding something in her hand. “Here, this is a letter that the Queen wrote for the bastard knight, you must not open it for it’s not for you, and you shall give it to him once you found him,” she placed the parchment paper in his soft hands.

She wanted to hold him one more time in her arms but she knew it would not happen; he was a man now, or so he thought, a man who was going to search for the rightful king of the Five Kingdoms and make war. _Boys always believe they’re men when you give them a sword and tell them to swing it at nothing._ Her son knew nothing of war, for he had been born in peace and prosperity.

He nodded and looked at his grandfather’s captain of guard. “Are you ready?”

“As always, my little lord.”

“Good.”

A stable boy had already placed his stallion next to him. In the candlelight, Eliza saw it was one of her brother’s horses, _Scar_ as he was named thanks to the ugly scar that told the tale of how he was almost sacrificed. A strong yet restless horse. Philip wasted no time, as if the night was going to end if he stayed another second, and got in the horse, holding its reins with strength and determination. “Go to sleep, mother. I will come back soon with Ser Alexander Hamilton by my side.”

Eliza said nothing and heard Hercules’s armor clank as he moved to find his own horse. It wasn’t long before he was beside Philip with his own horse. He gave her a solemn nod and began riding, it didn’t take even a second for her son to follow eager. _Gods be with him_.

* * *

Lin gave an exasperated look at his best friend as he laid on the cold floor of the poor built building that they had found a while back, and that had become their house when they were not working. “Come on, I need your help.”

Eston was a serious man, even though he was a year younger than Lin, he was of a hard stare and a steel hand. He was shorter than Lin too, just one or two inches; his hair was chestnut brown with a big goatee that covered his whole chin. He was a master swordsman whose voice demanded attention and will was strong enough to make people bend.

“First of all, it’s like a really damned late at night and you wake me up for what?”

“I need your help, if I must sail to the Five Kingdoms, I need someone I can trust. This whole isle is wasted and good talent is non-existent but you, you and I know how to make their world burn.”

Eston was not unfamiliar to that special hatred the Visians held for the king, he was one of the fervent believers of making them suffer. He had been born an orphan and had survived off the streets, he held no last name nor house but his power came from that iron hand that he had. “You accepted the help of the stranger, didn’t you? Nope, even better, you orchestrated the whole thing so, he would offer you his help.”

“An old man from the butchery was right, if I want this isle and its people to be free, I cannot wait here for my life to waste away, I need to act. Yet, I cannot do this alone. You become my Lord of Arms, and I’ll give you rewards that this isle is too poor to imagine.”

Eston scoffed. “Words, you Hamiltons are good with words, embellish them and sell them. There is nowhere in the whole realm that you will go where I won’t follow, I laid my sword before you and I bent my knee for you. But this thing could’ve waited until the morrow, didn’t you think?”

Not only a good friend to Lin, he was also his most loyal follower.

“In the morrow you would be training, you would ask not to be disturb,” his friend answered.

Eston shifted over the floor to see Lin better. “With good reason, what good would a Lord of Arms be if he wasn’t a good swordsman? That reminds me, Your Grace, you must begin your training immediately. Quit that stupid butchery now that we will leave this isle in…what did you say again?”

“Two days.”

“…two days, two precious days.”

Lin almost sounded excited. “We will teach them, Eston, we will show them how it is to feel inferior and powerless your whole life. I will burn their villages, kill their men, rape their women, torture their children and I will make them all bleed.”

 _Your excitement is understood and your cause is noble but how long will we last without soldiers to fight for us?_ “Go the fuck to sleep, will you? Tomorrow we make plans.”

Eston wasn’t a politician; he didn’t like the tunnels and corners and narrow routes that the politicians have to take. He was direct, blunt and abrasive; if he didn’t like something, he would make sure to tell you. He was no one to make compromises he believed would turn his cause rotten.

“Tomorrow’s a day too late for my taste.”

The swordsman gave an exasperated sigh as he moved again but this time to look at the rotten ceiling over them. “This plans of yours—do you even have a plan, or have you just improvised to this point?”

“This lord is someone highly important in his kingdoms; the plan is quite easy, my friend, we make it look as if we’re interested in what he has to say, we adopt his clothes, culture and voice meanwhile we find allies, see our enemies and make those narrow corners and dark routes to manipulate the lord to our bidding.”

“When has manipulating someone become easy? Last time I checked, there’s a dozen things that have to go your way for it to fall perfectly.”

Lin smiled in the darkness of the night. “Who would’ve thought that all I had to do to make you say two sentences in a row was get out of this damned isle?”

Eston ignored that bit. “So, your plan is for us two to go to a place where no one will care about us and no one will join our cause, or have you figured out how will they fight for their own demise?”

“Your mind is as sharp as a hawk’s even in the middle of the night.”

“Answer me.”

Lin scoffed. “We lie, I’m sure there’s people who still sympathize with the mad king and think of the current king as an unlawful one. I don’t plan to lead a full armed battalion to Citadel Fortress, that would be madness. I plan to destroy them from the inside, find who is the weak link and exploit it.”

“You still need an army. Political games can end in a swift move in part of the soldiers. Whoever controls them, can control the realms. Now, tell me, how can you make them men fight against their own land?”

“You’re a good strategist, a good soldier and will make a magnificent Lord of Arms but you lack creativity. Why would I tell them to fight _against_ their own people? Honesty is a tool but you have to know when to use it.”

“You’re going to lie to them, then? Fine by me, if you think you can outsmart those assholes. Just remember that even the lion lost his sight to the eagle and bear. Don’t go off thinking you’re smarter than them because you will not achieve anything like that.”

And with that the conversation had ended. As much as he hated to admit it, Eston was right, and Lin didn’t like that at all. In all the years they had stayed friends, it was the swordsman who brought him crashing down when he thought he had made a breakthrough; kind of annoying to know he could find the flaws to everything he said but then again, it was thanks to him he had survived this long. Lin shifted to see the dark pitch of everything and laid thinking; he needed someone naïve, he needed someone that wasn’t deep in the world of power and influence but had enough of both to carry weight on its name, someone that trusted easily and Lin could befriend him and make him his puppet.

Where the fuck he was going to find someone like that? He wondered.

 _I will see their land burn; I will be the downfall of the greatest realm in the world._ His people were going to matter more than their greatest king, but he had to be patient. Sadly, a Hamilton could be known for many things, patience, however, wasn’t one of them.

* * *

Philip was ready, he was more than ready, he was excited. Mulligan had gone back to the castle around two hours ago, and now it was only Scar and Philip. He had a map and knew it would take him a while to get to the nearest town, he could make the horse go faster but what good would that make? Yet he had to bite his lip to distract himself from that thought. Instead, he took out from his pockets, the poorly kept parchment that Mulligan had given him.

“Your father wrote this back in the war, he wanted a boy named Philip and after his death, we found it. Your mother honored his death wish when she found out she was pregnant.”

Philip always thought it had been his grandfather that had named him given the fact his own father had died before he was born. This was new information, it meant that even if his father didn’t know he would have a son, he already loved him. It meant his father had named him, and Philip’s pride shone bright in the grayish sky above him.

The light in the sky was still too faint for him to read the letter properly but if he squinted his eyes and held a firm grasp on the reins of the horse, he could make up some sentences.

_There is so much more inside me now._

_Philip, you outshine the morning sun, my son._

_My father wasn’t around, I swear that I’ll be around for you._

No one talked about his father, it was almost as if it was taboo. For a while, Philip thought his father had been a criminal or a rapist because his mother would frown when he ever asked about him. The robust Mulligan was the one that had laughed to his face when he gave the suggestion that his father had been a bad man; the captain of guard assured him his father had been many things but a bad man he had been not.

It was Mulligan who spoke about his father without a frown but instead with a warm smile.

Philip realized he didn’t even know his name, his father’s name.

He shook his head as he rode through the valley filled with green and the Great West River making white noise. He decided to focus on the panoramic, the West Valley was part of his grandfather’s lands but not part of the castle’s lands. He had not taken this route which made the river and the oak trees stand out. The valley was vast and the route were made of uneven rock and mud that ended up splashing in his boots. It made him go up and down from his horse and he knew he would be sore the moment he stepped down from Scar. But he did not mind it, he welcomed it, in fact. Soon, perhaps in the next hours, the sun would set high in the sky and he would take strength from it. He was a Schuyler, their sigil was the Sun.

He was eager to go North, to where the lands were brown, the trees naked and the cold would eat you up from inside. He wanted adventure and he was going to get it.

He knew his grandfather was worried that the king was murdered because it meant treason, High Treason, the one that Ser Alexander Hamilton had been charged with and paid with his titles and right eye. It also meant a war could break out if people didn’t acknowledge him as the rightful king. Philip had never seen war, he had heard about some small battles over honor, pride and women but those had never ended up in huge casualties and the realm had not spiraled down in chaos.

He didn’t know much of politics nor he knew much of war but he knew how to fight. Philip knew deep in his heart that he didn’t long fighting, war or death; since he was a kid, he had written the most beautiful poems or so his mother had said yet poems were not a man’s job and he had gulped his dreams away and focused on becoming a knight.

A poet searching for a king, that sounded like one of the ballads that those fool singers sung from time to time when they were in their travels.

Philip was a Schuyler, that was the mantra he kept repeating as he galloped through the valley, he was son of Elizabeth Schuyler who was daughter of Philip Schuyler. It was him, no one else, who would bring the rightful king Alexander Hamilton to the throne.

A part of him, however, wondered if he was really a Schuyler. Perhaps he was his father’s son.

But who was his father? He bit his lip and kept going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not American (I'm Mexican) but your damned elections give me anxiety, lmao. I want Biden to win but we all know it's gonna be Trump. Anyways, good luck, Americans. Forget your idiotic election and read this, it will make you feel better.


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